


counting to three

by bruisedbutlovely



Series: bittersweet words // oneshots [13]
Category: Dream SMP - Fandom
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Bittersweet Ending, Blood, Blood and Injury, Eret's Betrayel, Ghost Wilbur Soot, Ghostbur, Hopeful Ending, Hurt Wilbur Soot, L'Manberg War of Independence on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), Mentioned Alexis | Quackity, Mentioned Eret (Video Blogging RPF), Mentioned Jack Manifold, Protective Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Protective TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Resurrected Wilbur Soot, Resurrection, Tags Are Hard, The Final Control Room, Unreliable Narrator, Wilbur Soot Angst, Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit are Siblings, Wilbur Soot-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-14 01:34:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29660430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bruisedbutlovely/pseuds/bruisedbutlovely
Summary: When Wilbur Soot was resurrected, it was neither the man that went mad nor the friendly ghost.It wasn’t even a combination of the two.Instead, it was the Wilbur Soot before even his first death.(in which they bring back the man dying on the blackstone floor of the final control room)
Relationships: Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Series: bittersweet words // oneshots [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2160981
Comments: 18
Kudos: 280





	counting to three

**Author's Note:**

> this is set before tommy gets trapped in prison
> 
> and i know that niki wasn’t in the final control room but shush
> 
> also, i enjoyed writing wilbur soot (the character he plays on the smp) so i will not apologize for writing a lot of stories about him
> 
> i hope you enjoy and take care of yourself!!

Philza Minecraft tried to resurrect his son twice. 

Each time failed. 

The first brought no results, a simple death message that was shown across the people of the server and a relatively confused Ghostbur who didn’t remember why he was back in spawn. 

The second brought unsatisfactory results, a melding that no one could expect between the ghost and the former dictator of the crater that sat before them.

Phil was afraid to try it again. 

Maybe it was selfish of him, wanting to keep the bright-eyed and innocent ghost that reminded the father of his young son, before he grew up, before he went off on his own, before he blew up his country and screamed for Phil to kill him. Ghostbur was naive, pure, and didn’t look at Phil like he personally tore the stars down from their resting place in the sky and threw them at Wilbur’s feet in shambles. 

Phil wondered if Wilbur tried to mend the stars, tried to hang them back, tried to look at the sky like he used to. He wondered if he hung the stars the best he could, tying each knot himself and trying to make a sky for Tommy to awe at because Wilbur never could himself.

The father glanced back from the shrine, catching the eyes of the teenager that Wilbur called his brother even though no blood was shared between the two. Tommy refused to look at him, instead focusing on the blue shrine where the flags of L’Manburg fluttered softly in the wind. 

It seemed like the entire server was here this time, knowing that this would either work or Wilbur Soot would be dead once and for all. Phil looked around the crowd, recognizing some faces and catching new ones that must be a part of one of the newer parts of the server. Some of the people in the crowd never even met Wilbur and Phil questioned if they were here to finally see the president that lost it all then lost his mind.

The sword’s weight was uneven.

Turning back to the shrine, Phil allowed himself a soft smile as Ghostbur cooed at Friend, softly running his hands through the blue wool that was so carefully and meticulously dyed. His son seemed to pay no mind to the crowd, comforting the sheep as Friend tried to get closer to the ghost. Ghostbur only said something softly to the sheep, the words taken away by the winds that seemed angrier than usual, before tying the lead to a fence, ignoring the insistent baaing of his friend. 

“Are you ready?” Phil shifted, his grip tightening and untightening on the sword that killed his son. He looked into Ghostbur’s pure white eyes and somehow, he found comfort in them.

“Yep!” Ghostbur’s voice, always preppy and cheerful, gave away a bit to reveal a sense of worry, a touch of uneasiness. He held the totem of undying in his hand, fingers running over the notches and ridges in an effort to calm himself. “I’m ready.”

  
  
“We don’t have to do it, Ghostbur. We can put it off until you’re completely ready.”

  
  
“We can’t,” Ghostbur shook his head. “They don’t need Ghostbur, they need Wilbur.”

  
Wilbur was always a people-pleaser. Phil gave up his concerns.

“Whenever you’re ready.”

With a stuttered breath and an unsure voice, Ghostbur turned around. 

“The thing that I built this nation for doesn’t exist anymore.”

  
_ it used to _

  
  


“It’s over.”

_ it’s over because you say it is _

“What are you doing?”

_ do it, press it _

“Phil?

_ dad, dad, i’m scared _

  
  
“What are you doing?”

_ why does he care? _

“Have you heard the song on the walls?”

_ my l’manburg _

“There was a special place but it’s not there anymore.”

_ it was dead long before you were _

  
  
“It is there, you just won it back.”

_ it’s not my l’manburg _

  
  
“I’m always so close to pressing this button.”

_ press the button _

“You really want to blow it all up?”

_ yes _

  
  
“There was a saying Phil, by a traitor once part of L’Manburg. A traitor, I don’t know if you ever heard of Eret?”

_ this is the final control room _

“Yeah.”

_ down with the revolution, boys _

  
  
“He had a saying Phil.”

_ traitor _

“It was never meant to be.”

  
  
Ghostbur pressed the button but this time, there were no explosions, there were no screams, there was no ending of the symphony. Instead, there was only silence. 

And Ghostbur looked up but Wilbur was staring at Phil. 

“Kill me, Phil.”

_ one _

“No!”

_ two _

“Kill me!”

_ three _

“You’re my son!”

  
  
_ three _

“They all want you to.”

  
  
_ two _

“Wilbur…”

  
  
_ one _

“Do it.”

There was a sword, a totem, and a glimmer of hope. 

Ghostbur bled blue, the blood staining the netherrite sword and he gasped, his voice echoing and glitching. Phil stepped back, the sword sliding out of the wound in Ghostbur’s chest and it fell to the father’s side, dripping blue. 

Ghostbur fell to his knees, still gasping. 

And when he looked back up again, he whispered, “Thank you.”

  
  
**[Wilbur Soot has just earned the achievement ‘Cheating Death’]**

The totem came alive before the crowd, pulling itself out of Ghostbur’s hand and flying above the dying ghost. It exploded in a firework of gold and green, the sparks not hitting the ground as expected but swirling around itself, forming what looked like a tornado around the ghost. 

Slowly, Ghostbur was pulled from where he knelt on the ground, the magic from the totem lifting him into the air. His head snapped up, staring at the sky with lifeless white eyes and his arms spread out, letting the sun hit him just right and giving him the impression of an angel, of a being long lost. 

A blinding light wrapped around him, almost protecting him and forcing any witnesses to avert their gaze to prevent blindness. A loud ringing echoed in their ears and many clamped their hands over their ears, trying to block out the screeching noise but it could still be heard. 

And then, it was suddenly all over. The ringing stopped and the blinding light faded. 

Once the black dots in their vision faded, the people of the Dream SMP searched for the dead man. 

Wilbur Soot laid on the shrine but he was not wearing a dark trench coat, burned by an explosion, nor a bright yellow sweater, made many many years ago. Instead, he wore a bright blue jacket, long lost and forgotten, and a red bandana, left behind but remembered.

He wore the L’Manburg uniform, clothes of a different time. 

However, there was still a wound on his chest, still bleeding. But this time, the blood was red.

Wilbur Soot was alive. 

But the question was still the same; which Wilbur Soot was it? 

No one could move. They all stared at the man as if they couldn’t believe that he was truly there, that he was truly alive, that the resurrection truly worked. But they also stared because he looked younger, he looked more carefree, and he wore the uniform of a country that was only a crater. 

But then, he called out.

“Tommy?”

Wilbur’s voice was weak, soft, and unlike the echoey one of Ghostbur or the rough one of the insane Wilbur. Tommy froze in his place next to Tubbo, watching the man with wide eyes and Wilbur opened his own but they were unseeing. 

He couldn’t see the rapidly dimming sky or maybe, he didn’t choose to. 

“Please tell me you’re still awake. Please tell me Fundy, Niki, and Tubbo are.”   
  


Fundy, far from the little champion that he used to be, stiffened from where he stood on a hill next to Quackity. Niki, different from the bright and happy woman that only wanted a bakery, felt her eyes grow larger from where she rested next to Jack. Tubbo, unrecognizable as the teenager that loved bees and only wanted to help, grabbed Tommy’s hand. 

And Tommy, gathering every last bit of courage that was lost long ago, slowly separated from the crowd. Tubbo, still holding his best friend’s hand, followed. 

The server was silent. 

“Wilbur?” Tommy sat down next to his older brother in all but family and Tubbo took the other side. “Wilbur, it’s me.”

  
  
Gently, oh so gently, Tommy cradled Wilbur’s face and moved it so they could see eye to eye. But Tommy was crying and Wilbur was staring at him like he hung the stars. 

“You’re okay,” Wilbur smiled and Tommy couldn’t remember the last time he smiled. “You’re okay.”   
  


“Yeah, Wilby,” Tommy’s hand was warm and his brother leaned into it. “I’m okay.”

“I’m sorry."

  
  
“For what?”

  
“For not seeing Eret’s betrayal sooner.”

  
And it all fell into place. 

This was not a paranoid exile that slowly felt the world change around him with nothing to do about it or a forgetful ghost that said that everything was okay when everything was far from it. He wasn’t even a unsure president that didn't know what he was doing but trying his best anyway. 

This was a dying man who just lost his friends to a traitor. 

They didn’t bring back a ghost or a mad man or a sick combination of the two.

They brought back the man right before he lost his very first life. 

They brought back Wilbur Soot from the final control room.

“I trusted him,” Wilbur gripped Tommy’s hand and he was crying. “I thought they were our friend. And I killed all of you. I led you to your deaths.”

“Wil-” Tommy swallowed roughly, staring down at his brother’s younger face. “It’s okay.”

“I killed all of you.”

  
  
“Wilby…”

“I’m sorry.”

And Wilbur fell unconscious again. Tommy’s breathing was unsteady, unsure and he cradled his brother’s face. Softly, slowly, he started to cry harder and he pulled his brother up in an awkward hug, rocking the two of them back and forth. 

Tubbo, still in shock at seeing the dead man, rested his hand on Tommy’s shoulder in silent comfort. But he noticed the blood dripping down Wilbur’s usually perfect uniform.

“Tommy, he’s bleeding,” The third and final president of L’Manburg whispered. “He’s going to die if we don’t get him help and we don’t know how many lives he has.”

Tommy only nodded, shifting to hold Wilbur half in his lap and looking around at the crowd before him. “Does anyone have any potions?”

There was no answer. 

“Please, anything.”

Still no answer. 

“I’m begging, please. I know a lot of you hate me but they’re for Wilbur, please. He’s going to die!”

  
  
There was someone. 

“I have healing,” Niki spoke up, her voice loud in the silence. She started to climb down, walking cautiously to the trio with a pink liquid in a bottle. “But it will only do so much.”

  
  
She sat down next to Wilbur’s head and uncorked the bottle, letting it wash over the wound that was left by Punz. The potion sunk into the wound, healing a bit of the deeper wound but it still bled. 

“I have regeneration,” Fundy cleared his throat and he found a spot by his father’s feet. Just like Niki did, he poured the potion over the rip and they watched as the skin started to knit itself back together. 

In the silence of the server, the original members of L’Manburg watched their leader, their friend, their brother. 

Philza Minecraft tried to resurrect his son three times. 

Two times failed. The final was successful. 

The first brought no results, a simple death message that was shown across the people of the server and a relatively confused Ghostbur who didn’t remember why he was back in spawn. 

The second brought unsatisfactory results, a melding that no one could expect between the ghost and the former dictator of the crater that sat before them.

The third and final brought true results, an achievement that not many could get and a man brought back from the dead.


End file.
